A Taste of Sugar

by Marina Adair

  “Yeah, you do. You look…” Relaxed, blissful, giddy? “Guilty.” Or that. “Right there,” Glory pointed to Charlotte’s lips. “That serene smile. You only get it when you’re hiding something.”

  “I am not hiding anything, I just feel bad that I got here so late and you had to deal with all of this.”

  “Ah-huh,” Glory said, so not believing a word Charlotte said.

  Even worse, neither was Charlotte, so she did the next best thing, took the stack of files from Glory and started walking. “Please tell me that the riot squad didn’t bring out the hoses at the Jam-Off again.”

  That was all the ammo Darleen Vander’s im-peachment campaign needed.

  “Worse.” They rounded the corner, and—Lord have mercy—there were people sitting in the chairs lining the hallway. “It seems that someone didn’t seal their jars properly. We have one of the attendees claiming botulism poisoning.”

  “It was bad jars,” Darleen Vander said, standing up from one of the chairs with a grin. The woman was dressed in a cashmere sweater set and pumps—all daffodil yellow—her hair so teased it was three inches from God. Made complete, since the woman was standing as though in the pulpit, holding three jars of jam in her hands like they were stone tablets. “It didn’t specify on the entry application the kind of jars.” Something that she’d brought up at the last meeting. “And entry number 332 used those fancy jars off the Internet, which we all know come from China. You need to get Kerr jars if you want to be safe, because they make the pop when they seal.”

  Darleen pursed her red lips for effect and popped her mouth, while holding her hand out like a gun and pulling the lethal trigger. “Pop,” she reiterated. “Probably, Brett’s new wife. Poor thing is a Yankee, and without proper instructions she wouldn’t know any better. ”

  “We don’t know if it was Joie’s entry,” Glory defended. “In fact, we don’t even know if there is tainted jam. Only one person has symptoms that are consistent with botulism.”

  “Then why is my ER filled with half of Sugar Baptist’s congregation?” As soon as she asked the question, she knew she was going to dread the answer.

  “Because Rooster showed up at the church, screaming to stop the sampling because he had been poisoned by bad jam,” Darleen said with great theatrics. Then, resting a hand on her chest, she raised her voice so it could be heard down the hall. “Right as the judges were getting to my entries. He tried to throw my jam in the trash, so I reacted. Any man knows not to touch a lady’s jars without asking first.”

  “Rooster is in exam room nine.” Glory smiled and Charlotte rolled her eyes. “To make things more interesting, Rooster vomited right on Pastor Hal’s shoes. Within ten minutes people started showing up. A good portion came volunteering their jam for testing to prove that they aren’t killers.”

  Making jam was a serious pastime in Sugar, and a woman’s reputation could rise or fall based on her most recent batch. Serving a tainted batch to a panel of jam experts—well, that would be cause for a public stoning.

  “And the rest of them?”

  “Didn’t want to be left out of what is to be front-page news tomorrow.” She tapped the files in Charlotte’s hand and rolled her eyes. “These are the people complaining of symptoms consistent with Wikipedia’s diagnosis.”

  “Glory, if you could take those jams to the lab and see if they are tainted, then get Ms. Vander’s copy of the entry list so we can see who entered what jam, that would be helpful.”

  Darleen clasped her hand to her chest, her pearls rising as she gasped. “That list is sealed in a safe at the bank. Opening it before the winner is called would mean canceling the ninety-second annual Jam-Off.”

  “Yes, well, that is the only way to contain this possible botulism outbreak.”

  Darleen’s smile was big and smug, and Charlotte wouldn’t be surprised if Darleen hadn’t entered tainted jam herself. “I’d need the regent’s permission to do something so…against the moral code.”

  Charlotte was more concerned with a possible food poisoning outbreak than her position as regent, so she smiled back—equally smug. “Just do it.”

  Charlotte started walking and Glory followed, lowering her voice when she asked, “Why do I get the feeling Darleen just won?”

  “Because she did.” Once the board heard about Charlotte’s most recent decision, there were going to be gripes. With a frustrated sigh she headed toward her office. “Explain to me how Rooster got access to the jams?” Although Rooster wore many hats in town, they were all grease-stained and said ROOSTER’S ROOFING AND REMODELS: REDNECK WITH A TOUCH OF (CL)ASS. The only thing he knew about jam was that he liked it on his toast.

  “His dad is a judge, and Rooster admitted to breaking into his restaurant late last night and sampling a few of the entries,” Glory said as Charlotte unlocked her office door and walked inside. “He also sampled some of that Fairchild House moonshine his dad keeps on hand.”

  Charlotte flicked on the light, and she set the files on her desk. Grabbing a pencil from Glory’s cup, she twisted her hair up into a bun, speared it, and was back to being Dr. Charlotte. “So patient zero was consuming stolen jam and moonshine all night?”

  “Yup.” Glory laughed. “We ran a blood panel and should hear back from the lab by tomorrow. But my professional opinion tells me that the double vision, cotton mouth, slurring, and vomiting have nothing to do with the jam.”

  “I will check on Rooster first, then go see if I can weed out the rest.” Plan of action in place, Charlotte grabbed her stethoscope and put it around her neck.

  “Why were you in Atlanta again?” Glory asked.

  “I had some paperwork to finish up with regard to the house.” Which was not a total lie. It was her purchase of the house that started this whole mess. Actually, she thought looking down at her bare ring finger, it was her rash decision to marry Jace.

  “Funny, Jace was in Atlanta finishing up some paperwork, too.”

  Charlotte went still. “Imagine that.”

  Glory laughed and, oh boy, she knew. Charlotte didn’t know how Glory knew, but she knew all right. Her friend was the only person in Sugar who was privy to her and Jace’s history. It was the result of an unfortunate slip Charlotte had made when Glory first started seeing Jace’s older brother Cal. At the time she didn’t want Glory thinking she’d slept with Cal, so she came clean. Not with everything, but enough to know they had a past—a sizzling past.

  This was not good.

  “I can imagine all kind of things, so you might want to spill since I am sure what I’m imagining is way worse.”

  “Worse than stairwell sex with Jace McGraw?” Charlotte whispered, feeling her entire body tingle at the memory.

  “Oh my God!” Glory’s face lit with excitement. “Stairwell sex with the bad boy of the family? I gotta say I am impressed, Doctor.” Charlotte wanted to argue that Jace wasn’t the bad boy. He was sweet and attentive—in and out of the bedroom—and wonderful. And he was bound to break her heart again if she gave him the chance.

  After a long, intense moment, Glory’s grin faded and she sank into the chair. “I know that look.”

  Charlotte was terrified that it was the same look Glory had worn when she’d realized she was falling for Cal. Not that Charlotte was stupid enough to fall, but when it came to her and Jace, there was always the potential for stupidity.

  “Hang on.” Glory fished through her pocket and came up with a quarter, a pulse oximeter, a folded-up magazine page of a wedding dress, and a breath mint. She unwrapped the mint, broke it in half, and offered part to Charlotte. “It’s not chocolate, but it’s the best I have. Now, spill.”

  Charlotte popped the mint in her mouth and sat down on the edge of her desk. “I don’t know where to start.”

  She was so confused about what had transpired over the past twenty-four hours that she desperately needed some female advice. Especially from a female who had intimate knowledge of how to deal with those stubborn McGraw men. S
he couldn’t start at the beginning, as mentioning the annulment to a soon-to-be McGraw would feel like a betrayal of Jace, but she could certainly talk about last night.

  “We had amazing sex in the stairwell of a cheap hotel, and I mean amazing.”

  “You don’t have to convince me. I am fully aware of just how talented the McGraws are.” Glory wagged a brow, then her face went soft. “I’m also aware of just how difficult they can be when they meet the right woman.”

  “I’m not the right woman.” Because if she were he wouldn’t have walked away all those years ago.

  “Right enough for stairwell sex.”

  “Yes, but the plan was he’d go back to his life, and I’d go back to mine. But now he is staying. In town.” Only to leave after the parade. Which would be harder than if he just left now. “That wasn’t part of the plan. He’s totally screwing with my plan.”

  “That’s what McGraw men do,” Glory said, then sat back, then her eyes went wide with astonishment. “Oh my word! You like him screwing with your plans.”

  There was so much truth in that statement, it terrified her.

  Chapter 8

  In the South, the difference between being sweet-talked and strong-armed wasn’t always clear. But Jace had been with enough women to recognize the signs, and he was being strong-armed. The embarrassing as shit part: he was actually scared. That she was five-foot-nothing and named after a flower only made the experience that much more embarrassing.

  “It’s up to you,” Lavender Spencer, owner of Kiss My Glass Tow and Tires, said as though he really had an option in the matter. “Either you teach the next few Saturday classes for me or clear out of my garage.”

  Jace slid the mechanic’s dolly out from under the car and looked up at the owner of those steel-toed boots. “I’m the last guy you want teaching a bunch of old ladies about car maintenance.”

  “You say that like I’m a better option. My last date ended up in the hospital,” Spencer said matter-of-factly. “He kept asking me questions—about my hair, what I liked to eat, what my hobbies were—so I pulled out my favorite hobby, unloaded my entire magazine, and ruptured his eardrum.”

  “You shot your date?”

  “He was deaf for the night, not dead.” Right, because if she shot at him she wouldn’t miss. “And don’t look at me like I’m crazy, we were at the shooting range, and he didn’t get his ear protection on fast enough.”

  “You go on dates to the range?”

  “What’s wrong with the range?” Since his last date took place in a stairwell—and Spencer’s boots were inches from his head—he figured it best not to argue. “And it wasn’t like I meant to injure his hearing, I just wanted him to shut up. Who talks while someone is shooting?”

  “Maybe a guy who thought he was on a date,” he said, standing up—and out of striking range.

  She blinked as though just realizing that the poor guy was trying to get to know her. “This is the exact reason why I can’t teach this class. If I shoot at anyone I’ll lose my county contract, which means I’ll lose my shop. And I am bound to shoot at someone, since half the Sugar Ladies choir signed up, and we all know how they like to nag. And wouldn’t that make Sheriff Duncan’s day.” A weird, and quite frankly unsettling, twinkle lit her eyes. “I hate making the sheriff’s day.”

  “Did you say the class is on Saturday?” He flashed his trademark grin, the one that had been passed down from McGraw father to McGraw son. “Sorry, darling, but that’s family dinner night.” Not that he was going, but she didn’t need to know that.

  “I’m sorry, dickhead”—Spencer looked at her black tank top—“what does my shirt say?

  Jace swallowed. “Lug-Nut Crusher.”

  “Thank God, the way you were treating me to that smile, I thought I accidently put on a ‘Hey, I’ve got boobs so I must be stupid’ shirt. Because family dinner night at the McGraws’ is Sunday, and you haven’t gone to a family dinner in years, which explains the stupid look on your face. Plus Hattie is on the list for the class.”

  Eyes locked on his, Spencer pulled a doughnut out of the pink box that sat on the workbench next to her. She inhaled half of it in one bite, wiping her mouth off on the shoulder strap of her tank top. “Here’s how I see it. You dropped this car off over a week ago and I have been pretty damn neighborly about it, never once saying a word.”

  “Brett dropped the car off, not me.”

  “Brett, Jace, same thing. A McGraw is a McGraw.” Unconcerned, she shoved the other half in her mouth. “Point is, my garage looks like an automotive graveyard. There are more parts on my floor than in the cars, and it is starting to piss me off. Almost as much as having to do this stupid class for the community in order to keep the towing contract I have with the sheriff’s department. So unless you want to explain to your grandma why her car is having a sleepover at the junkyard, then I suggest you get your little crowbar ready and figure out how to teach women with hip replacements how to change a tire.”

  Jace looked at the calendar on the wall, at the number of days that had passed since he’d last seen Charlotte—two. Receiving the silent treatment after what they’d shared the other night left him feeling agitated and confused. Okay, sure, so it had started out as a long-overdue farewell, a way to find some kind of closure, he knew that. But then she’d kissed him as if she couldn’t breathe without him, and in that second everything shifted. For him, it was no longer a hot and heavy good-bye, only he was afraid that was exactly how Charlotte had seen it.

  With a frustrated groan, he looked at the remaining number of days until Founder’s Day—twenty-one—and felt that suffocating panic he was so good at burying rise up and expand until he thought his ribs were going to burst.

  But being here, in the place that reminded him of all he’d lost, knowing that Charlotte was just across the lake, within reach but completely untouchable, was going to be hell. So maybe this was a good thing. Maybe working on that car might be the distraction he needed, since Charlotte wasn’t following through on having that talk she promised him. Hell, she couldn’t even follow through with returning his call.

  Jace looked at his dad’s car and sighed. It would be one hell of a push, but if he pulled a few all-nighters he could get the car done before he left, get it running and polished in time for the parade. And when he packed up to start his new life in Atlanta he could walk away knowing he’d done something positive with his time here.

  “I’ll do it,” Jace said, cupping the bill of his hat and pulling it lower on his head. “And Hattie’s car will be done before I leave town.”

  “Good answer.” Spencer shoved a flyer at him. “The first one is tomorrow. Don’t be late.” Spencer snagged the last jelly-filled and headed toward the office.

  He lifted his head to see what else he’d signed on for. “Hey,” he hollered. “It says my name on the flyer.”

  “So?” came through the wall.

  “So?” He walked over, opened the door, and leaned against the doorjamb. Spencer was already pushed back in her chair, steel toes up on the desk, enjoying the hell out of her breakfast. “What would you have done if I’d said no?”

  “I would have called Charlotte back and explained that her car, the one you hijacked, has been sitting in my garage, ready to go, for two days, and you haven’t told her.”

  “She called? Asking for me?” Jace looked at the shop phone on the wall, then he smiled. He couldn’t help it. It was big and stupid and he didn’t care.

  “She called about her car.” Yeah, but she called. “And she sounded all put out.”

  “It’s not like I was holding it hostage or anything.” Spencer made a sound that translated into “bullshit.” “What? I was waiting for her to call back so I could give her the good news.” After they had that talk, of course.

  “You were waiting for her to come to you.”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  Spencer stood up, then narrowed her gaze on him for a long are you fucking with me moment,
and Jace narrowed back the best he could, then glanced at his cell to see if he’d missed any calls and—

  Ah, shit, Spencer was right. He’d been sitting around waiting for Charlotte to come after him, have that talk, and tell him…what? That she’d changed her mind. That she didn’t want the annulment. That what she really wanted was him—in the stairwell again and maybe this time in her bed, too. Because that’s what he wanted. Her in his arms for another night, because one wasn’t enough. Two wouldn’t be, either, but he’d take what he could get.

  Jace ran a hand down his face, unconcerned if he was smearing more grease along his scruffy jaw, and let out a soul-deep breath. It didn’t help. His ribs felt even tighter, so he sat down on the workbench.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Spencer said in a smug tone while clapping him on his sorry back. “How I see it, you have two options. Grow a pair and tell the pretty doctor that you want to look under her hood, or sit here with your dick on your sleeve and wait for her to come to you. Your call.” Handing him a half-eaten doughnut, she shrugged, a sign that their kumbaya moment was over. “Either way, by the end of the day if her car is still here I’m having it towed.”

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, Charlotte headed toward her office, desperate for a few minutes of peace and pleased as punch that she had successfully avoided Jace for two entire days. A difficult task in a town with only two blinking lights. Yet amazingly enough, between pulling double shifts at the clinic and volunteering to cover the urgent care overflow today, she had kept herself too busy to do something stupid.

  Like return his calls.

  That didn’t mean that she hadn’t thought about it, though, damn the man. Because while she spent her days consciously avoiding him, which led to thinking about what might happen if she stopped avoiding him, and ultimately to why avoiding him was so imperative, she’d spent her nights dreaming about the sexy mechanic with nimble hands and a devastatingly talented mouth.